


Sweet Dreams

by Squid Squad (TerminalMiraculosis)



Series: Operation 24 [4]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, It's not actually full-on PTSD but it's close enough that I feel I should tag it, PTSD, This one's a bit heavier just so you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-27 06:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminalMiraculosis/pseuds/Squid%20Squad
Summary: Eight and Three go to meet with Cap'n Cuttlefish and a representative from the Inkopolis Military about their recent mishaps in Kamabo. The talks stir up some forgotten memories in Eight; memories that not only complicate her relationship with Three, but that suggest some difficult truths about Eight's past.





	1. Memories

“Eight!”

Eight frowned, paused the game on her phone, and turned to face Marina, who was standing in Eight’s doorway. She had on that face of hers that meant she was frustrated with Eight for reasons that were incredibly obvious to her, and which she believed should be incredibly obvious for Eight as well, but never were. “What?”

“What are you doing in bed?”

Eight blinked. “Playing squid beatz mobile.”

“Oh my god, are you still wearing your pajamas?!”

Eight looked down at herself. Normally, she would just answer, ‘Yes,’ because she was, in fact, still wearing her pajamas. However, something about Marina’s tone seemed to imply that ‘Yes’ was not the right thing to say in this situation. So Eight said the first alternative that came to her mind. 

“No,” she said, looking Marina dead in the eye. She was looking more and more exasperated by the second, and eventually reached up with her hands to massage her brow.

“Eight,” she said, in that fake-calm way of hers, “you need to meet up with Eight and Three in five minutes. You know, to talk with the _Colonel.”_

Oh, right.

 _“Sherauste,”_ Eight said, jumping out of bed and running to her closet.

“Language,” Marina chided as she walked out of the room.

Not two minutes later, Eight was dressed in the first things she’d come across, and was standing in front of her mirror, desperately trying to fix her hair.

 _“Eight!”_ Marina called from the door. “We need to leave _now!”_

Double _sherauste!_ Eight gave up on her tentacles, resolving to just pin them up with the golden toothpick she had laying on her night stand. It was one of her favorite souvenirs from the metro—while nothing from there exactly made her feel _comfortable,_ she did think this at least looked nice. Surprising, considering she literally found it laying around in some locker.

As soon as she was sure her hair wasn’t about to fall apart, she ran out to the door where Marina was waiting.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I like your hair pin.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

Marina dropped Eight off in front of a big important-looking steel building. She didn’t see anyone she knew around outside, so she bit down her trepidation, walked over to the large double-doors, and pushed them open.

The lobby was spacious, but practical; smooth tiled floor, several rigid-looking chairs, and a wide reception desk made out of something that looked like wood but probably wasn’t. There were also a large number of flags and symbols around, very few of which she actually recognized, aside from the Inklings’ national flag, and some symbolage she’d seen in Cuttlefish Cabin. Military signs, most likely. Something about it all was reminding her of the Octarian bases, but her stupid memory wasn’t good enough to latch onto any specifics.

“Yo, Eight. Over here.”

Eight turned to the familiar, apathetic voice of her girlfriend to see Three and Cap’n Cuttlefish sitting over on some of the uncomfortable-looking chairs. She smiled and jogged over to them.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna make it,” Three snarked, showing a ghost of a smile.

Eight laughed guiltily. “Yeah… I almost didn’t.”

“Well, you’re here now, and that’s the important thing,” Cap’n said. “It’s nice to see you again, Agent 8.”

“You too!” Eight cried, reaching down to hug him. It really had been a while; Eight just couldn’t find the time to go out to the border very often. But if it weren’t for him, Eight would’ve certainly gone completely insane down in the metro.

“Now that you’re here, though, we should probably head up,” Cuttlefish said. “Colonel Clamsey should be expecting us by now.”

Three got up, stretched lazily, and began walking by Eight’s side as they followed Cuttlefish up a flight of stairs.

“Have you ever met the Colonel before?” Eight asked as they climbed.

Three shrugged. “A couple of times. I had to do this for my mission two years ago, too.”

“What was that like?”

“Uh, basically just, like, tell him what happened, then he asks some questions like, ‘Do you have any idea how the Octarian spatial warping technology works? You mentioned those kettles contain whole bases,’ and then I say, ‘I got no fucking clue,’ and it goes back and forth like that for a while.”

“Marina probably knows more about the kettle technology,” Eight said. “She didn’t work with it directly, but she was sci-ops. I’m sure she’s got some idea.”

Three let out a short laugh. “Okay, well, if I ever feel like having Marina talk me to death about advanced Octarian sciences that I don’t understand, I’ll make sure to ask.”

Once they reached the fourth floor, Cuttlefish led them down a hall and into an office. There were a few chairs set up in front of a pristinely organized desk, behind which sat an Inkling in decorated military garb. Colonel Clamsey was an older Inkling (though not quite as old as the Captain), and Eight’s attention was immediately drawn to a long scar that started under his ear and ended on his chin. His tentacles were cyan, and they were tied low at the base of his neck. 

He smiled, wrinkling his face. “Captain, thank you for coming.”

Cuttlefish nodded. “My pleasure, Colonel.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Agent 3,” the Colonel went on, eliciting a curt nod from Three. “And you must be Agent 8.”

Eight smiled.

“Please, take a seat.”

Eight did. She’d been right about the chairs; they were uncomfortable.

“Shall we get into it, then?” the Colonel asked. “I’ve read the reports, but I feel it’s important to hear everything from your mouths as well. This ‘Kamabo’ institution has potential to be even more dangerous than the Octarians; I don’t want any details to fall through the cracks.”

“Of course,” Cuttlefish said, laying his cane across his lap. “I can start. As I’m sure she told you last month, Agent 1 was doing some reconnaissance before she got kidnapped by DJ Octavio. She picked up some rumors of a large underground research facility, and that’s when we first heard of Kamabo. I left Agent 2 in charge of home base and took Agent 3 out to investigate out by Octo Ravine, where Agent 1 suspected Kamabo was hiding. There, Three got into a fight with Eight here, but they were interrupted. Someone—I don’t think any of us got a good look at them, unfortunately—”

“They were wearing a hazmat suit,” Three said. “Like all Kamabo employees. Wouldn’t have been able to see their face anyway.”

“Right,” Cuttlefish acknowledged. “So, this person throws Three down into the abyss—”

“Jerk,” Three interrupted.

Cuttlefish shot her a look. “—and knocks out Eight, taking her to the metro. Luckily, I was able to follow, somewhat. They took Eight through some door I wasn’t able to get through, but I waited out by the train station, and soon enough, Eight showed up back there, unconscious and without her memories. She can take it from here, though; I mostly just waited on the metro, but she actually did all the tests. Eight?”

Eight looked at him. All this talk of that fight with Three before she lost her memories was pricking at something in her mind, but she could worry about that later. For now, she turned to the Colonel and began talking, mentally walking through her time in the metro. She began from when she’d woken up—her earliest complete memories—and verbally retraced her steps through meeting the Captain and Commander Tartar, all the inane trials she’d had to endure on her quest for the thangs, her chats with Marina and Pearl, and the blender Tartar had constructed once she’d finally gotten them all, and Three bursting through the ceiling to bust them out after she’d heard the distress signal Marina had sent.

“So I got on this elevator that would take me up to the surface,” Eight continued, “but then Three got mind-controlled by this weird goop and tried to stop me from—”

Three’s head snapped to Eight. “Wait, what?”

Eight paused, confused. Three should know this. “The… after you got knocked unconscious?”

“After I got knocked unconscious, I woke up on the helicopter.”

The room went quiet. Cuttlefish and Eight exchanged a glance, before Cuttlefish put a hand on Three’s shoulder. “You don’t remember? Eight had to fight you to get it off.”

“I _fought Eight?!_ While I was _mind controlled?!”_ She turned to Eight, eyes wide. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Eight shook her head. “No.” She’d certainly gotten close, though. But Eight didn’t say that.

Three sunk into her chair, looking down. “…Why didn’t anybody tell me? No wonder you seemed so scared of me at first.”

Eight cringed. So she had noticed.

Clamsey coughed. “If you don’t mind me asking, could you tell me more about this mind control technology? If that’s a resource Kamabo has access to, then we need to be as aware as possible.”

Cuttlefish shrugged. “We don’t really know much. It seems goop-like in consistency, and it’s light green and translucent. It sticks to its victims face, presumably to get close to the brain, and takes control of their body. The host is apparently unconscious while it’s attached, and it’s possible that it can only attach to an already-unconscious host. And it can be knocked off with a couple well-placed ink shots, as Eight demonstrated.”

“Hyjax slime,” Three said. “I saw some being grown in the labs while I was sneaking around Kamabo, and it matches that description. Apparently they’re called hyjax. And that’s with a ‘y’ and ‘x’, for reference. No idea why.”

The colonel raised an eyebrow. “Grown?”

Three nodded. “It’s some kind of synthetic lifeform, I think. It can crawl around and it eats leaves. Really freaky. I didn’t get close, so I didn’t know what it did. Oh, and it should be noted that its victims don’t have their full fighting ability while they’re being controlled. No offense to your skill, Eight, but…”

Three trailed off, but Eight nodded in understanding. “Yeah. No. My memories of our first fight are hazy, but I remember enough to know that I probably would have lost had we not been interrupted.”

That was an understatement. Even without remembering specifics, Eight knew that it was a miracle she hadn’t been splatted in the first twenty seconds. And as far away from powered spawns as she was… 

Eight stopped thinking about that; her head was beginning to hurt. She tuned into the Three instead, who was continuing to talk about what she’d gone through during her time investigating Kamabo while Eight had been in the metro. The way she spoke here, on official agent business, was very different from how she spoke casually. There were a lot less swears, for one, but on a more subtle level, Eight could hear how methodical her tone was. She spoke about fighting off waves of sanitized octolings and other, more grotesque experiments that Eight didn’t even want to think about with a calm, detached tone. If Eight didn’t know any better, she’d imagine that Three couldn’t care less about it.

But Eight did know better, and she knew that Three was downright terrified of what she’d seen in Kamabo. She’d never talked about it much, but as Eight listened, she could see why: Eight may have been one of their subjects, but she had barely scratched the surface of what Kamabo was up to. As Three began speaking about some creature that had been created from _blending_ multiple octolings and _mixing their ink together,_ it was all Eight could do not to wretch. Even the Colonel made a face.

But not Three. She managed to push all her feelings down into some closed-off part of herself, and kept on doing what she had to do.

That kind of detached professionalism was almost famil—

_She looked up at the infamous Inkling soldier, tinted ever so slightly through her visor, and sneered, raising her octoshot. Emotionless, the agent just raised her weapon, cape and green tentacles whipping in the wind._

_Green. Specifically colored to contrast the Octarians’ colors for maximum dissolution. What a monster._

_The agent jumped, and she began shooting, but the Inkling moved faster than she had anticipated. They ran and ducked and rolled and shot, but it was clear who was winning this fight. She cursed; she couldn’t lose here. This was her chance!_

_But then, in a move she had never seen before, the agent jumped up into the air and came down with an explosion of ink. Eight jumped back; she managed to avoid the blast radius, but she landed hard on her back. The agent jumped onto her, pinned her down with one arm, and, with an emotionless glare, pressed the shooter to her neck._

_She let out a sneer and struggled, but there was nothing she could do. But then, just before the Inkling pulled the trigger, someone else appeared. Someone with—_

“Ah!” Eight jerked forward, clutching at her head. It felt like someone had activated an Ultra Stamp from inside her brain. “No! No! Arg!”

Three’s face instantly shifted from her emotionless agent-mode to her usual kind eyes, and she reached out to hold Eight. “What’s happening? What’s going on?!”

Eight reflexively jerked out of Three’s grasp. “M-memories…” she managed.

Well, one memory. But this one was way more complete and vivid than her other ones. And way more awful.

“Let’s stop for today,” Cuttlefish said.

“Agreed,” said the colonel. “We can resume this another time, once you’re feeling better, miss Eight. I didn’t mean to bring old trauma back up to the surface.”

Eight nodded dumbly, and let Three escort her out of the building in a daze. Her head hurt. A lot. It didn’t normally hurt this bad when she recalled memories.

It had been something at the end of the fight. Someone had stepped in, and thrown Three down into the abyss. She must’ve crawled into Kamabo’s pipes from there. And that someone must’ve taken Eight. She tried to recall their fa—

“Ah!” Eight cried, as another lance of pain struck her frontal lobe. Okay, so, that part was off limits.

“Eight? Eight!”

She looked up at Three. “Y-yeah, I’m good.”

Three bit her lip. “I’m guessing you just want to be driven home?”

Eight almost asked to walk, but that would’ve been stupid. So, instead, she just nodded, told Three she didn’t really want to talk, and refused to look at her the entire drive back to her house. From there, she stumbled through the living room, past the studio, paused in the bathroom to throw up in the toilet, and then finally arrived in her bedroom.

She didn’t even bother to get under the covers, but it hardly mattered; she was asleep in minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha yeah this one isn't a comedy.
> 
> For those of you that have been on this journey with me the past couple months, this is shaping up to be the last story in this series, and I just want to thank everyone for sticking with me through to the end. Here's to a great last hurrah!


	2. Inner Agent Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Challenge the champion within . . .

_Eight sat up shakily, feeling like she’d just been ripped apart from limb to limb. Slowly, her surroundings started to take shape around her: the Domes. Some sort of arena. There were giant speakers set up against the walls, across the abyss, pumping music that she couldn’t seem to make out over her headache._

_Why was she back in the domes?_

_“Ya, weni, marei,” said the speakers. The words seemed to cloud her mind, dragging her down, making her movements heavy._

_A blur of motion in front of her caught her eye; a single Inkling, dropping down onto a raised platform just outside of the arena. She was familiar, but Eight was having trouble recalling her. She had a cape flowing behind her, a modified shooter in hand, and earphones on. Her tentacles were grey—no, green, wait, no—orange. They were orange._

_Three._

_The rational part of Eight’s brain told her that this wasn’t correct. Three’s tentacles should’ve been green, since she was in Octarian territory. They had been green last time they were here, in the Domes, with Three staring her down like this. Green was the most effective color against the purple the Octarians liked to used, it did the most damage, all the agents switched to green whenever they faced Octarians, so why was she in her natural color, and why was she smiling like that, and why was Eight so scared, and why—_

_“Mirekyara hire, juri, yu mirekerason,” said the speakers, and Three jumped._

_She crashed onto the arena floor with a splashdown, which Eight only barely managed to avoid. Eight brought up her octoshot and began firing, but barely got two shots off before Three tossed out an autobomb and inkjetted up into the sky._

_Eight ran in circles, dodging autobombs and ink globs and now Three was using a bubble blower and there were even more autobombs, and Eight briefly wondered, in the dredges of her consciousness, not for the first time, how she’d ever made it out of this battle alive to suffer in Kamabo._

_“Kire, hyari, yuriherahe nyurahera,” said the speakers._

_As Eight wove between tenta missiles, the beats of the Calamari Inkantation pounded in her head. She recognized it now; she had felt its spell once before, long ago, as it stripped the DJ of his power. She understood the magic the song brought._

_And she understood that, in this moment, it was not playing for her._

_“Nunyera, unera, yurawera fimera ni!” said the speakers, as Three’s splashdown forcibly tore apart Eight’s body in an explosion of blue-orange ink._

_Everything went black for a moment of indeterminable time, and then Eight awoke once more, rising on shaking legs, clutching her Octoshot with whitening knuckles. The Octarian visor over her eyes ever-so-slightly distorted the dreary scenery of the Domes. She cringed as the speakers spasmed with the low sounds of thumping kick drums, and watched helplessly as Agent 3 dropped onto her platform, confident as ever._

_“Ya, weni, marei, mirekyara hire, juri, yu mirekerason,” said the speakers, as everything repeated once more, and her headache returned full-throttle._

_If it didn’t hurt so much every time, Eight imagined she would be growing numb to dying._

* * *

“Eight? Eight, wake up!”

Eight’s eyes shot open, and she instinctively tucked and rolled, certain that Three’s splashdown was coming. But it wasn’t, and her hasty acrobatics only served to make her collapse onto the thinly carpeted floor in a tangle of bedsheets and tentacles. The golden toothpick in her hair came loose and rolled across the floor, coming to a rest against the leg of her night stand.

Marina looked down at her worriedly. “Did you have a nightmare? You were tossing and turning when I came in to check on you.”

Eight frowned and looked at her alarm clock she never used. Nine? What?! She normally woke herself up at seven!

“I’m so sorry,” Marina continued, sitting down at the edge of Eight’s bed while she untangled herself. “You haven’t had one in weeks; I thought they were over. Was this another one about the metro?”

Eight opened her mouth, paused, and shook her head. “No, it wasn’t.”

“What was it, then?”

Eight frowned. Marina must have noticed how uncomfortable she was, because she smiled softly, and put a hand on Eight’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said. “I just thought talking might help.”

“I… appreciate it,” Eight said. It was true, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look at Marina. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

Marina nodded. “I understand. Well, hang in there okay? And we’re here if you need us. Me, Pearl, Three… all of us.”

Eight flinched despite herself when Marina uttered that last name. Marina frowned slightly, but let it go, leaving Eight alone in her room. She sighed, hugged her knees to her chest, and tried not to cry.

* * *

_“Hey, it’s Three. I was just calling to see if you wanted to hang out sometime? I got work for a few days starting this afternoon, but I’m free this morning. Just thought I’d ask because I’m gonna be pretty unavailable for the rest of the week. If you’re interested just give me a call.”_

* * *

Eight slammed her eyes shut tight, but couldn’t help thinking about bubble-blowers and autobombs.

* * *

**Three:** Eight, you there?

**Three:** Its been a while since I called. U lose your phone or something?

**Three:** Not to pressure you or anything its just your usually so prompt

**Three:** Hmm. Well, guess ur not at ur phone right now or something. Idk just text me when you get this if you can? Im starting to get a bit worried lol

* * *

Eight clutched at her head. _Ya. Weni. Marei. Mirekyara hira. Juri. Yu mirekerason._ It was stuck in her head, now. Maybe she didn’t want her memories back after all. This wasn’t fun. This was the opposite of fun.

* * *

**Eight:** Hey, sorry I missed all of your calls and texts, I’m a bit busy right now.

**Three:** Oh, its fine! What are you doing, if you don’t mind my asking?

**Eight:** It’s personal, sorry

**Three:**

**Three:** Right of course

**Three:** Okay well

**Three:** See ya when I see ya

* * *

_“Hey, Eight, it’s Three, again. Did I… do something wrong? I feel like you’re mad at me. Because you’re definitely avoiding me. I just want to talk. I’m sorry. I’m… not exactly sure for what right now, but I’m sorry. Please pick up. I’m worried. I’m sorry. I, uh… I… nevermind. This was a bad idea. Just ignore this. Heh, not like you haven’t been doing that already. Wait, no, that came out meaner than I intended. I’m… sorry.”_

* * *

Three slid her phone back into her pocket and let her head collide onto the break room table with a harsh _bonk._ What was going on? Had it been that memory? But, hell, she didn’t even know which memory it was, much less any that would make her this mad at Three. Except for their first fight, she guessed? But Eight had attacked first back then; Three had just been minding her business. Did Eight not remember that part? Maybe she was just… uncomfortable? …Scared? Three had no idea, and it was frustrating her.

“Amy.”

Or maybe it was a memory from before the two of them had even met. Maybe she’d remembered that she was, like, super loyal to the Octarians before getting her memory wiped, and now she was having an identity crisis, and seeing Three would just make that harder for her. That would make sense, she supposed.

“Hey, Amy.”

But why couldn’t Three help her with that? Did Eight not trust her? She was her girlfriend! Why shut her out like this? Ugh. The last thing Three wanted was to feel mad towards Eight about this, but she was making it kind of difficult.

“Amy. Amelia. Hey. Amy.”

Three immediately filed her thoughts away for later, and Amy sat up, giving Danny a hard look. The two of them were the only tour guides on shift at the Museum today, since Tuesdays tended to be rather slow. And Amy _really_ wasn’t in the mood to deal with his bullshit right now. “Fucking what?”

“There’s a group waiting for a guide, lazy-ass.”

“Well,” Amy droned, “good thing you don’t seem particularly busy.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Danny said, shaking his finger at her. “I just finished a tour, and you’ve just been sitting in here on your phone all day. Who are you even texting, anyway?”

“None of your business.”

“It is when I have to do all the work myself!”

Amy rolled her eyes and stood up, walking over to the water cooler and grabbing a cup. “Fine. I’ll go do this tour. Happy?”

“You never answered my question,” Danny went on, like a nosy little fuck. “Who are you texting?”

“What part of ‘none of your business’ don’t you understand?” Amy growled as she watched the water pour into her cup.

“C’mon, Ames, I’m curious.”

“Call me that again and die,” she said automatically, draining the cup in one long sip and tossing it out. She sighed; Danny wasn’t gonna shut up unless she told him, so she may as well just get it over with. “I was texting my girlfriend.”

Danny blinked. “Oh, so you’re bi?”

“Lesbian,” Amy corrected.

“But you and I used to—”

“We all make mistakes, Danny,” Amy said coolly, walking to the door that exited the employees-only area. “Though I guess I never thanked you for teaching me that valuable lesson. So, thanks.”

Danny spluttered for a moment, but finally found the words to ask, “Who is she?”

“Good- _bye,_ Danny,” Amy hissed, slamming the door.

Muttering under her breath, she made her way to the front of the museum, where a group of out-of-towners were waiting. Amy wrenched her face into something she hoped resembled a smile, and approached the group.

“Hi, and welcome to the P. R. Hana Science Museum. I’m Amy, and I’ll be your tour guide today. Prepare yourselves for the technological marvels of modern day Inkopolis and sh—” She looked nervously to one of the children in the group, a red inkling who hadn’t yet acquired her shapeshifting. “And stuff. Whatever. Follow me.”

God. She needed to get her head in the game. _Amy. You’re Amy,_ she said into her head as she stopped at the first exhibit and droned on about early spawn technologies used in the War. _You work in a museum. You don’t know octolings still exist. You don’t even know that ‘three’ is a number._

“Hey, honey,” one of the tourists said to his wife, “are we still on for dinner with your folks at eight?”

The words echoed in her head. _At eight? Eight? Eight?!_

Amy whipped out a finger to point at him and pulled a face. “Shut up! No talking during the tour!” He reeled back in shock, looking extremely uncomfortable. Amy coughed. “Sorry about that. Anyway, the development of spawn technology proved to be the turning point in the war against the Octarians, and…”

* * *

Eight turned at the knock on her door, and closed out of the voicemail she’d been listening to for about an hour now. Pearl was there in the doorframe, looking equal parts awkward and worried.

“Hey, kiddo, you alright?” she asked. “You haven’t left your room, like, all day.”

Eight narrowed her eyes. “Did Marina send you to check on me?”

Pearl blushed. “Look, what’s wrong? This isn’t like you.”

Eight set down her phone and sighed. After a minute, she said, “Three tried to kill me.”

“Oh boy,” Pearl said, and walked over to Eight’s bed, sitting down. “This isn’t about the mind control, right?”

Eight shook her head.

“So… did you… your memories…”

Eight nodded.

“Oof,” Pearl said. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Well…” Eight paused. “The memory’s not much. I remember encountering Three in Octo Ravine, and then we fought. I was scared, but determined to win, I think. But I was losing. Then we were interrupted, and the memory stops there. But that’s not—it’s not just that, I had this dream where Three was killing me over and over and I just can’t _win!_ She could’ve killed me back then, and—and she could kill me _now_ , if she wanted, and there’s nothing I could do about it!”

“I don’t understand,” Pearl said, and then quickly followed with, “Wait, no, that came out wrong. I mean, I understand that having nightmares like that fucking sucks, and I get that your fight with Three isn’t exactly a happy memory, but I don’t get why you think Three might still want to hurt you. Because, trust me, she’s like head over heels for you. You know?”

“I know,” Eight said. “I know she would never hurt me. But I also know she would absolutely hurt whoever I used to be. So… who was I, that Three was willing to kill me back then?”

Pearl swallowed. “Eight, I would be shocked if you were ever anything besides a great person.”

Eight laughed, softly, and asked, “How would you know? I shot first.”

Pearl didn’t have a response to that, and sat quietly for a minute before finally speaking up again. “Have you tried talking to Three about it?”

“…No,” Eight confessed. “I’ve kind of been ignoring her.”

“Eight!”

“I know, I know!” Eight protested, looking away. “But I just… can’t face her right now. I’ll apologize once I’ve worked through all this.”

Pearl shook her head. “Nope. Bullshit. Not how this works.”

“W-what?” Eight asked.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, alright?” Pearl crossed her arms, her presence almost making up for her lack of height. “You’re gonna get some sleep. I know you want to avoid any nightmares, but you need to sleep, got it? And then tomorrow, you’re gonna talk to Three. Face to face. And it’ll all work out.”

“R-right.” Eight wanted to believe Pearl, she really did.

“Great! Alright. I’ll leave you alone now.” Pearl got up and walked out, idling in the doorway. “You’re too strong to let this keep you down, Eight. And not a single person here is worried about who you were in the past, got it?”

Eight nodded, but said nothing as Pearl shut the door to her room. She glanced towards her pillows; she really didn’t feel like sleeping right now, despite Pearl’s insistence. She would talk to Three tomorrow—really, she would—but tonight, there was someone else she wanted to talk to. 

Carefully, silently, Eight slipped out of her room.


	3. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight visits someone who might know her, and Three visits someone who might understand her.

Sneaking out of her house had been easy; she was a soldier trained in stealth techniques, and Pearl and Marina were pop stars trained in being loud. Pearl especially.

Once she was out the door, she quickly made her way through the streets of Inkopolis to the grate that Three had shown her back when she’d first arrived and Three had been assigned to give her a tour of Inkopolis. Eight shifted into her octopus form and slipped through the grate.

Soon, she arrived at the cabin that rested on the very edge of Inkling territory. She froze as she saw Cap’n Cuttlefish in a rocking chair out on the porch, but sighed in relief as she heard a comically loud snore coming from his direction.

Deathly silent, Eight slipped past the old soldier and made her way to the cliffside where DJ Octavio rested, confined to his snow globe. He must have sensed her approach, because he turned around, already beginning to speak.

“What do you want, Cutt—oh.” He paused for a second, staring at Eight. “Well this is a surprise.”

Eight sat down in front of him, crossing her legs. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” DJ Octavio said. “Long time no see. Judging by the fact that you’re wearing surface clothes, I’ll assume you’re not here to free me, and that instead you’ve defected, which is just fan-fucking-tastic.”

“To be fair, the food up here is much better,” Eight quipped.

Octavio rolled his eyes. “Of course. Why are you here, kid? Showing me your face is a huge risk, and you’re not an idiot.”

“I’m dating Agent 3.”

“What the fuck.” There was silence, for a minute, as Octavio rubbed at his temples. “You’re dating the sworn enemy of the Octarians? The most wanted woman in the Domes?”

“Yeah,” Eight said. “She’s actually really sweet.”

Octavio gave her a half-lidded stare. “I _beg_ to differ. Why did you even come here? Just to piss me off?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Well, you’ve got a captive audience,” Octavio said wryly.

“Why did you lose to Three? And Four, for that matter.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were using the Octobot King, right? And you have way more combat experience than either of them. There’s no reason they should’ve been able to beat you.”

Octavio was quiet for a long time. “The Octobot King has significant flaws that the Agents exploited, and I didn’t realize the extent of those flaws until it was too late. That answer your question?”

“But why didn’t you realize that sooner?” Eight asked. “It just seems inconsistent with you being such a successful general during the Great Turf War.”

“Not successful enough to win,” he muttered. “What are you getting at, kid? I’m sorry if my answer doesn’t satisfy you.”

“Was it the Calamari Inkantation?”

Octavio narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, so Eight went on.

“When I first heard the Inkantation two years ago, it freed me from your hypnosis. I understand why they call it the heavenly melody. But I was wondering what if felt like to have it played against you.”

“It hurts,” was the first thing Octavio said. “It’s like it’s playing right inside your head, pounding against your brain. It gives you a killer headache, and you can barely hear anything else. The power that song gave to you and to your detestable little girlfriend during that fight was sapped directly from me. So you’re welcome, I guess.”

“I wonder if the Squid Sisters know,” Eight wondered.

Octavio scoffed. “I doubt it. They found the words to an ancient spell by pure dumb luck, and thought it would make a catchy pop song. The other kids in that folk-singing contest didn’t stand a chance. Kind of like cheating, if you ask me.”

Eight frowned. “You know an awful lot about them.”

“Not by choice. When Craig doesn’t have you poor suckers to tell his dumb stories to, he comes to me. He talks for hours sometimes.” He let out a short laugh. “Honestly, his stories are the only things that come close to the Calamari Inkantation in terms of raw auditory pain.”

“Okay.” Eight stood. She paused, looking into Octavio’s eyes, and felt her feet go cold. “Um. Thanks. Bye.”

“We both know you didn’t come here to ask me about that song, 02-A,” Octavio said before Eight could walk off.

Eight’s head whipped around. “02-A?”

Octavio frowned. “That’s your name. You should know that.”

“Amnesia,” Eight said simply. “I don’t… know who I am.”

“I see,” Octavio huffed. “Figures. Well, I know who you are, soldier 02-A. You were the captain of the second front-ops squad. You answered to me directly. That’s why I was so surprised to see you here. Of all the octolings to go rogue, I would’ve never guessed it would be you.” 

“I thought I would have a better name than 02-A,” Eight muttered. Three had a real name. Why couldn’t she? It didn’t seem fair.

“Well, that’s not your _name_ name. You also have a personal name. Octarians just don’t use them much.”

Eight sprung forward, hands on the glass. “Do you know it? My name? Can you tell me?”

“I could,” Octavio began, “if you let me out.”

Eight took a step back, face hardening. “Do I need to call Three?” She’d rather not. She’d really rather not, after ignoring all her calls, but she would if she had to.

“No, no,” Octavio said. “But you can’t blame a guy for trying. Although, I suppose blaming me for trying is exactly why I’m stuck here.” He let out a dry laugh. “It’s a shame you lost your memory, 02-A.”

“My name is Eight,” she insisted.

He laughed again, but this time it was genuine. “Ha, wow! You go by your agent number? Seriously?! How’s that any better than your squad number? And here you are, saying it’s not a real name. You’re hopeless.”

“It’s different,” Eight said, though she was starting to doubt her own words. Maybe this had been a mistake. “Three goes by her number. She prefers it, even.”

“So, what? Are you gonna make like little ‘Amy’ and hide from reality?” Eight cringed, but Octavio bowled right over it. “You used to be such a good soldier, 02-A. Even after your hypnosis broke, you kept on just the same, or so I’m told. You were so loyal to us; you understood why we needed to fight the Inklings. You despised Three just as much as the rest of us. In one of the last reports you filed before disappearing, you talked about how you’d tracked down Agent 3’s location. You were so excited to take her down, 02-A. It’s a shame you failed so spectacularly.”

Eight trembled. “I—I don’t—You’re lying.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just making stuff up to get inside your head. But I can tell there’s still a little bit of 02-A inside you that knows I’m not. I can see it in your eyes.”

Eight clutched her sides, looking down. This was too much. This had been a mistake. Here she was, feeling all scared of Three; but Eight had been trying to kill her!

“Come back, 02-A,” he said crisply. “This isn’t who you are.”

She’d always been afraid that she’d been a bad person before Kamabo. Everyone around her had told her that they were sure she’d always been great, or that it was the hypnosis, but, but, but what did they know? What did _anyone_ know, except for… for…

She looked up into the smiling face of the DJ, and she knew that she’d seen that same face many, many times before.

“Octavio, that’s enough.”

Eight swirled around to see Cap’n Cuttlefish standing behind her, cane wobbling in his hand. He was looking disapprovingly at Octavio.

“Captain!” Eight exclaimed.

“Craig,” Octavio droned.

“Me,” he agreed.

Eight fiddled with her hands. “I’m sorry, I was just, um—”

Cap’n Cuttlefish silenced her with a hand. “It’s quite alright, Eight. I’m was a soldier—I tend to sleep with one eye open, as they say.”

“Oh,” Eight said. She’d keep that in mind, in case she ever really did need to sneak past him someday.

“I didn’t intervene at first because this seemed like something you needed to do,” he said. “However, I won’t stand by and watch as Octavio tries to manipulate you like this.”

“Well that’s a bit harsh,” said Octavio. “I’m just telling her about her past. Isn’t that what you want?”

He addressed the last question to Eight directly, who looked away. “I… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to be curious about your past, Eight,” Cuttlefish said. “But you can’t let it define you.”

“It’s who you are,” Octavio countered. “You can’t run from that.”

Cuttlefish sighed. “Growing up isn’t running, ‘Tavio,” her said, tiredly. “Maybe if you had learned that back during the war, you wouldn’t be stuck in there now. Come, Eight. Let’s go.”

Eight nodded and started walking back to the cabin, turning around to spare DJ Octavio one last glance. He was turned away from them, looking off towards the Valley, arms crossed. If Eight didn’t know better, she would say he looked almost regretful.

It was… sad, Eight decided. 

“Was he telling the truth?” Eight asked, once they were back at the cabin. “Was I really such a bad person before all this?”

“Hmm… who can say?” The Captain settled down into his rocking chair. “Unless you get your memories back, there’s not really any way to know. But let me ask you this: If you found out that you really did hate Three back then, would you hate her now?”

“Of course not!”

Cuttlefish smiled, and closed his eyes. “Then maybe you should focus on who you are now. On who both of you are now. Let the past inform you, but don’t let it control you.” He yawned. “Well, I’m going to return to my nap now. Have a good rest of your day.”

“You too. And thanks,” Eight said, before walking off towards the grate. She had a lot to think about.

* * *

Three drummed her fingers on the coffee shop table, nibbling at her croissant. Come to think of it, this was the same shop where she and Eight had met up after that disastrous first date. 

God. Eight. She…

“So!” Callie dropped down into the chair across from her, pulling her from her thoughts. She poured an absurd amount of milk into her coffee, and dropped in a frankly disgusting number of sugars. “What did ya wanna talk about?”

Three made a face. “Well, for starters, I’d like to say that I’m offended that you still consider that coffee.”

“Funny coming from you, Three,” Callie said, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. She always wore them and her beanie when she was in public casually, in addition to keeping her tentacles hanging down instead of up in her signature style. “I remember when we first got coffee together. I made fun of you for ordering black coffee at sixteen, and you replied, and I quote, ‘It matches the color of my soul.’”

Three flushed. “Shut up, I was _sixteen._ I’m much less edgy now.”

“Of course, Three, we all agree.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

Callie laughed. “I’m sure this isn’t what you came here to talk about. What’s eating at ya, girl?”

“It’s Eight,” Three said, and sighed. “She’s been avoiding me ever since we went to talk to Colonel Clamsey.”

“Seriously? That sucks. What happened?”

Three clutched her coffee mug even harder. “That’s the frustrating part—I don’t really know. Talking about Kamabo and everything apparently made her remember something, and it was obviously not a pleasant memory, but I don’t know what memory it was and she won’t _tell_ me, so I don’t fucking know what I’m supposed to—”

“Woah, woah,” Callie said, reaching out and laying a hand on Three’s shoulder. “One step at a time, alright?”

Three nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “Right. Well. I dunno, it all started when we were recounting what happened in the metro. Apparently I got mind-controlled down there after I got knocked out, and fucking nobody told me!”

“Eyyy!” Callie said, raising her hand in a high five. “Mind controlled squad!”

“Why are we celebrating this?” Three asked. She gave Callie the high five anyway.

“Just in case we ever need to sort through that trauma together,” Callie said, which was fair. “And, let me guess, you fought Eight while you were mind controlled, and going over that sparked her memory?”

Three shrugged. “I guess? I really don’t know what memory it was. Just that it was bad. But she won’t _talk_ to me. That’s the real problem.”

Callie took a deep breath. “You’re not gonna like my advice, Three.”

“Better than nothing.”

“But that’s just it,” Callie said. “My advice is to do nothing.”

Three frowned. “That’s shitty advice.”

“I _did_ warn you that you wouldn’t like it,” Callie reminded, pointing a finger at her. “Look, that fact of the matter is that you can’t _make_ Eight talk to you. You gotta wait until she’s ready. Forcing it will just make everything worse.”

“But what if she doesn’t—”

“She will”

“Ugh, fine, whatever.” Three chanced a look at the coffee shop’s clock. “Shit, I gotta get to work.”

“You’re welcome!” Callie shouted after her as she ran out the door.

* * *

Three drummed her fingers on the break room table. There were still eighteen minutes until the start of her next tour, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Eight, which she was pretty sure wasn’t healthy.

She needed a distraction, so she reached for her phone.

It only rang a couple times before Four picked up. “Hey, Four, are you free? I’m bored.”

_“Crap!”_

Three frowned. “Excuse me?”

_“I have practice with my team today! I can’t believe that the one time you actually initiate contact with me I have a conflict.”_

“Just skip practice,” Three said. “I’ll skip work. We can bond over our mutual rebellion.”

Maybe this was why she couldn’t hold onto a job for very long. Eh, whatever.

_“I can’t. You could always come with, though! It’d be great!”_

“I’d probably rather feed myself to the salmonids.”

_“Oh, come on. Aren’t you even remotely interested in pro battling? You’d do great! You’re better than like everyone on my team. You could replace Ricky next season! Please? Ricky’s a pain in the butt anyways.”_

“You’re the captain, right?”

 _“Yeah!”_ Four chirped.

“Then no.”

Four sighed dramatically. _“Would you join if I let you be the captain?”_

“Nah, the answer would’ve been no regardless. I just wanted to rub it in.”

 _“Ugh,”_ Four said, and hung up.

Three put her phone back into her pocket. While that had been sufficiently distracting, and also quite fun, it had only wasted about two minutes. Damn. She waited the following eighteen minutes in boredom, and then walked out to the museum lobby, hands stuffed into pockets.

She gazed out over the crowd of people she’d be droning on to for the next thirty minutes. Let’s see… less kids than normal, that was good. Some elderly squids; she hoped they didn’t go on and on about how novel all this shit was back in their day. And Eight was there. That was— 

Three stopped, eyes zeroing in on the Octoling. Eight stared back, with a deer-in-the-headlights expression that Three imagined was mirrored on her own face.

Three could feel the scream building up in her throat a mile way, but that wasn’t enough to stop it from coming out.


	4. Final Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight and Three have a chat.

Eight stood in the museum lobby amongst the other prospective tourers, wondering if this had really been the best plan. Yes, she wanted to talk to Three face to face. Yes, Three had work all this week. So, logically, she’d have to speak to her at work. But that had a few problems: namely, that Three was supposed to be working, not talking with her. Also, it wasn’t like Three was the only tour guide that worked here. She’d probably get stuck with some schmuck, like that infamous Danny guy she kept hearing about, and then she’d just wander around this dumb science museum looking at technology older than dirt. Seriously, Octarians were already so much more advanced than Inklings when it came to technology—she should show these people around an Octarian science museum. It’d blow their minds. Not that Octarian science museums existed or anything, as far as she could remember.

Before she could continue bashing Inkling science in her head, however, her attention was instantly caught by Three approaching their group, looking unbelievably disinterested. She scanned the crowd, met Eight’s eyes, did a double take, stared at her with a deer-in-the-headlights expression (which Eight was sure she was mirroring on her own face), and screamed.

_“AAAAA—”_

This was not the reaction Eight had particularly been hoping for.

“Oh my god,” someone to Eight’s side mumbled. 

_“AAAaaaaa_ annnd the tour’s canceled everybody, please feel free to roam the exhibits at your own pace. After all, what’s science without freedom? Okay, cool, um—”

“Wait, what?” someone else asked. “Canceled?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” Three said, still not taking her eyes off Eight, who just swallowed.

“Why?”

“…Reasons.”

“Isn’t there anyone else who can do it, um…” The pushy Inkling looked at Three’s tag. “Amy?”

“Uh.” Three pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Hey, anybody free to cover this tour?”

_“Why?”_ crackled a male voice.

“Reasons.”

_“What kind of—”_

“I’m walking away, now, Danny,” Three said, giving Eight a head-jerk and walking away. “You’re gonna let down this enthusiastic group of tourists because of your selfish actions.”

_“You’re the one who’s—”_

Three switched the walkie-talkie off and continued walking. Eight sheepishly smiled at the people around her, and ran off after her girlfriend.

Three led her into an employee’s only area, which was furnished with a cheap folding table with cheap folding chairs, a fake potted plant, and a water cooler with fading lettering. 

“So. Wanna, like. Sit down?” Three asked. Eight nodded, and they took their seats at the table. “So are you ready to talk?”

Eight giggled. “You sound like you’re interrogating me. But yeah.”

“Alright,” Three said, her face neutral. “So, what was all… all of this about, then? Because I've been really worried, and you weren't talking to me, and—”

“I know, sorry,” Eight said, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world. “It’s just… I remembered that fight when we first met. Or, most of it, at least. You know, when you—”

“Almost killed you?” Three said. “Yeah, I remember. I kinda thought that might be what it was.” She sighed. “I guess I understand why you wouldn’t want to see me after that. Just… you know that I, you know, that I… yeah?”

“Yeah, totally,” Eight said, totally not sure at all what Three was trying to say. She must’ve been showing her confusion in her face, however, because Three scowled.

“Ugh, I’m so bad at this. Just that I would rather, like, die than hurt you again.”

Oh. “Yes, I know,” Eight said. “That—that wasn’t really what I was worried about. I’ve actually been having nightmares since the memory hit. Every night.”

Three frowned. “Eight, have you been getting enough sleep?”

“…No.” 

“Did you sleep at _all_ last night?”

“…No.”

Three’s eyes narrowed. “Eight!”

“I’m sorry!” Eight protested, throwing her face into her hands. “I just don’t want to… it’s… you don’t understand!”

Three sighed, and relaxed her posture, placing a hand onto Eight’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. What’s the nightmare about?”

Eight looked into Three’s eyes, and got the sense that she already knew the answer. Eight told her anyway.

“It’s our fight. I’m back in Octarian gear, and everything, and I’m patrolling through the Ravine, looking for you. I’d tracked you out there, and, and I wanted to kill you, and—that’s not even the dream, that’s just… Well, anyway, basically, we start fighting, and Calamari Inkantation starts playing, and eventually, you… you splat me. And then it just… repeats, and no matter how I fight, you kill me every time, and it’s awful because it’s _you,_ and I don’t know why they always say you can’t feel pain in dreams because you _definitely can.”_

Eight exhaled, long and raspy, and turned to look up at Three, who seemed uncharacteristically pensive. After a bit of a pause, Three crossed her arms, leaned forward, and looked Eight dead in the eye. “Sounds like you need to beat a bitch up.”

Eight flushed. “W-what? But this bitch is you!”

“No, it’s not,” Three said. “Because if she were me, she wouldn’t be trying to kill you.”

Eight made a face. She had a point, but… “I don’t know if… I mean, will that really solve the problem?”

“Well, I’m no psychologist,” Three said, “but I’ve had my fair share of nightmares.”

“Oh, like, from two years ago?”

“Um, no.” Three hesitated, glanced at Eight, and then glanced away. “It was before I became an agent. My, uh, my home wasn’t exactly… great… actually, this is a long story, and we’re not here to talk about—”

“No, tell me,” Eight said. “I mean, if you’re comfortable.”

Three let out a breath. “Okay. I haven’t exactly told anyone this before, so just, bear with me.” Eight smiled reassuringly and nodded; Three smiled back. “Right. So, my parents are really shitty. Especially my Mom. She like, hit me and stuff, you know. And then I’d do poorly in school because of her shitty parenting, and then she’d just get even madder, and, yeah, that wasn’t fun.”

Eight’s eyes softened. “Three…”

“I turfed a lot just because it was something to do, outside of the house. Also, it was good practice for whenever I got into fights, which was… a lot, until I started beating everyone and they got scared of me. But then at the end of my sophomore year at high school, um. My mom caught me… kissing a girl.”

Eight’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Right, yeah. I guess this is only a problem you have when your society has romance in the first place.” Three chuckled. “Man, you’re gonna be so mad when I tell you about this.”

“What is it?” Eight was skeptical. She didn’t think of herself as someone who got mad very easily.

“So, this isn’t really a problem in Inkopolis. But in some of the more rural counties, it’s seen as wrong for boys to date boys and girls to date girls.”

Eight made a face. What. Why. What. That made no sense.

Three must’ve caught her blank stare, because she said, “Yeah, it’s dumb. I mean, I’m obviously biased, but… well, anyway, my mother _really_ didn’t like that. She… well, basically, I got kicked out of my house, and—”

“She _kicked you_ out of your _house?!”_ Eight nearly screamed. _“For that?!”_

Three smirked. “Told ya.”

Eight rolled her eyes. “You’re—that’s—whatever.”

“Anyway, long story short,” Three said over her giggles, “that’s how I ended up in Inkopolis without any home or money at sixteen. But then I met Cap’n, and everything worked out. But, yeah, I had a lot of nightmares during that first year out of the home. Also a lot of self-hatred. I forced myself to date men for a while—that was a big mistake. But, whatever. Point is, I beat the shit out of my mom in my dreams, and suddenly I wasn’t scared of her anymore.”

Eight blinked. “That… doesn’t sound like the healthiest way to deal with that problem.”

“Oh, I’m sure it isn’t,” Three said. “I still haven’t spoken to my Mom in nearly three years, and I’m pretty sure that bridge is fucking ash by now, but my point is that you gotta, like, face your fears, or whatever. So beat up dream-me. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I—alright.” And then Eight realized Three had just totally unloaded onto her, and she should probably acknowledge that. “I’m really sorry about all that stuff you had to go through, Three. That’s really tough.”

“And I’m sorry you grew up in a fascist asscrack of a country, lost your memory, and spent several months as a test subject for some AI that overstepped its programming, which, honestly, sounds a lot worse in my opinion.”

“I think it’s subjective,” Eight said. “But I get your point.” 

Eight paused for a moment, staring at Three’s face. She remembered back when she and Three were just starting to get to know each other, after that disastrous ‘first date,’ how Pearl had stopped her from telling Three that she loved her. She’d said that Eight should wait for a ‘romantic’ time. Eight was still trying to figure out what that meant exactly, but she this felt pretty romantic.

She scooted around the table until she was sitting right at Three’s elbow.

“Hey, Three?”

“Mmhmm?”

“I have something I wanna tell you.”

Three smiled. “Well, what do you know, I also had something I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh,” Eight said. “Well, you can go first.”

“Shouldn’t we say it at the same time or some shit?” Three asked, her cheeks taking on a hint of orange. “Isn’t that like a thing?”

Eight shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Right. Well, let’s do it.”

Eight nodded, and they looked at each other, and then they spoke.

“I love you,” Eight said.

“We should totally make out,” Three said.

They stared at each other for a couple seconds, completely still.

_“UUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuugggghhhhhhh,_ I totally fucked that up!” Three lamented. “Dammit! I didn’t think you were gonna—erg, why am I so fucking bad at all of this!” She clawed at her face, dragging her fingers down and her skin down with them, causing her eyes to bug out. “I love you too, by the way, I’m just a fucking idiot.”

Eight, as it happened, was blushing fiercely, and looking a bit too hard at Three’s lips. “Um, it’s fine,” Eight said. “I don’t really get the whole ‘I love you’ thing anyway. But, I, uh, do get the kissing thing, so, um… I liked yours better.”

Three stopped her vain attempt at disassembling her face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eight said. “You taste really good.”

Another bout of silent staring followed that, except this time Three was lit up bright orange, which made Eight go bright red, and then before she knew it Three was on top of her, and so Eight flipped them over onto the table so _she_ could be on top, thank you very much, and Three really liked that, apparently, because that was when she got her tongue into it, so Eight grabbed one of her long tentacles in her claws and _yanked…_

* * *

Danny was exhausted. Fuck Amy. What a bitch. You can’t just skip out on a tour like that! Honestly. It was a miracle she still had her job, between this and how she treats the guests.

“Alright, everyone,” Danny said, his customer service voice growing increasingly strained. “Thank you all for visiting the P. R. Hana museum! My apologies again for the late start. I hope you all enjoy your time here in Inkopolis!”

He smiled and waved as they all walked off, and once he was out of eyesight, he dropped the act, let his head loll back, and groaned. Fucking hell. He hated Amy so goddamn much sometimes.

He was still mumbling to himself when he reached the break room. With a deep sigh, he grabbed the knob and flung the door wide open.

He stopped dead in his tracks. So did Amy, who was currently tangled up under some other inkling with that funky new tentacle style, their faces smashed together. Also, Amy’s shirt was draped over one of the chairs. So that was a thing.

“God _fucking_ dammit, Amy,” Danny said, driving the heels of his palms into his eyes. _“This_ is why you flaked out on that tour? So you could go fuck your girlfriend in the break room? _Where you work?”_

“Fuck you!” Amy shouted. The other girl jumped off of her, and Amy grabbed her shirt, throwing it on with an impressive speed. “We were just kissing!”

“That was way past kissing.”

“We hadn’t even gotten to third base!”

_“That is not the point!”_

Amy had the audacity to roll her eyes at him, before turning to her girlfriend. “C’mon, Eight. Let’s ditch this place.”

Danny crossed his arms. “Eight, huh?”

“None of your fucking business, asshole,” Amy huffed.

Eight waved at him. “Hi! I’m Eight. Who are you?”

“Danny.”

“Oh.” Eight frowned, and she lost her cheeriness in an instant. “Okay.” She turned to Amy. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Wha—”

“Hey, fuck you, Danny!” Eight said suddenly, turning and flipping him off.

“Wh—wuh—” Danny looked hopelessly to Amy, but she paid him little mind, instead turning to Eight and high-fiveing her. 

“Yeah! You tell him!”

“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to do that!” Eight said giddily. “It always looks so fun when you do it!”

Danny watched in utter bafflement as the two of them left the break room, and presumably the museum. He fell backwards into a chair, slightly dazed. “I need to find a new job.”

* * *

_Eight awoke once again in the familiar arena in the Ravine, and Agent 3 once again dropped down onto her platform. But Eight could see her clearly, now; the Octarian visor was gone, along with the armor and octoshot. In her hand was the carbon roller that Four had given her—the emperry dualies Pearl had lent her—the undercover brella that she’d gotten from Marina—Three’s old splattershot, paint chipped and peeling, that had been the weapon she’d used in her very first turf war._

_“Sakiganareku, mewanite! Didariwabachu, niragatske!” sung the speakers, with Marina’s smooth vocals. “Orahaveora didizatse, wo-ah woah-oh-oh! Woah ah-ah, oh!”_

_Mind-Three splashdowned in front of Eight, but she positioned herself just out of range, and let the ink crash down before her._

_“Regaspradawatsa, bidayukro; rebaspradafuya bepapinno!” sung the speakers, this time in Pearl’s slight rasp. “Wenuhigamyuze nomarupa, wo-ah woah-oh-oh! Woah ah-ah, oh!”_

_Eight raised her splattershot and took careful aim. She was feeling confident, this time. Mind-Three’s tentacles went green, Eight smiled, and as the beats of the song flew through her, she pulled the trigger._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh there it is. Whew. Hey, three months ain't bad for this many words, even if I did just barely manage to finish editing this chapter in time, lmao.
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you guys for reading this series, whether you just binged all of it or you've been reading since What's a Date--you're what makes this worth it. And obviously thanks a ton to everyone who commented or kudoed or bookmarked or whatever; it's sometimes hard to remember that all these little numbers are made of real, individual people, but every time I do remember it really punches me in the heart. And, finally, super special thank you to those of you who left comments on each chapter, each update, like clockwork. You guys know who you are, and, lemme just say, y'all are the real heroes. I would've run out of steam for this series a lot sooner without you guys.
> 
> This isn't necessarily the end of this series; I'm sure you've noticed a bunch of loose ends. I may come back to wrap those up some day, but not for awhile--I'm getting pretty burned out when it comes to writing this fandom right now. But this series is really special to me, so we'll see what happens.
> 
> Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone for reading!
> 
> Hey, if you want to ask me any questions about this fic and its extended universe, or just want to look at the cute agent 24 art I reblog, come visit my tumblr! You'll find me at [operation-24.tumblr.com](https://operation-24.tumblr.com).


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